Attached to a house, up a hill
is a porch time has weathered well.
Yellow roses, in bounty spill
through a latticework’s weaving spell.

Paint has peeled all over the place;
some rusted nails have come undone;
still it exudes, a warmth and grace
that to me, comes second to none.

Creaky steps add an odd beauty
to this porch I hold in my heart.
For it speaks of its own duty -
when I come and when I depart.

How I treasure the times of old
impressed, engraved on every post;
the never-ending stories told,
by this quaint space, I cherish most.

Yldara 200807223